


Finger painting

by blackmoonalcolyte (jomipay)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, F/M, Knife Throwing, Knifeplay, Negotiated kink, Sasha teaches Wilde how to throw knives, Target Practice, target practice takes a bit of a dark and sexy turn, there is consensual cutting with a knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29005818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/pseuds/blackmoonalcolyte
Summary: She gives him a small nod and the faintest quirk of her lips. He throws another dagger, striking the target close to the center again. Sasha’s stomach drops, she adjusts her grip on the blade in her hand, palms itching  and she’s moving forward before she can think any better of it. She stalks right up behind Wilde, only giving him the chance to notice her presence when she breathes hot air over his neck. In the next second she wrenches his head back with one hand tangled in his hair and puts a knife to his throat with the other. His eyes go wide, panicked, like a trapped animal, though he makes no move to get away. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this.
Relationships: Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Finger painting

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags! This isn't their first time doing this and it has been negotiated off screen with a safe word.

Wilde had wanted to learn how to throw knives and Sasha wasn’t able to think of a reason to say no. It gives her an opportunity to show off, to flaunt how much better she is at this than he will ever be and that makes her stomach tingle pleasantly. He’s been getting better with every session. She places a dagger in his hand, no longer surprised that his long and delicate fingers don’t look out of place wrapped around it. She demonstrates as she always does, lining up her shot and releasing the dagger, smiling when it hits the target dead center. Sasha stands behind him, adjusts his elbow, reaches around to nudge his grip a little closer to the balance point. She watches him for a long time, letting him figure it out, offering assistance when he turns to look at her with a question in his eyes.

The room darkens as the sun sets and Sasha frowns, confused about where all the time has gone. Wilde’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his hair has begun to tangle at the ends. To Sasha’s equal surprise and delight, Wilde has picked this up much quicker than she had anticipated. Her eyes trace his fingers around the hilt of the blade as he lines his shot up. He cocks his wrist and throws, striking very near the center of the target. Her heart thuds in her chest, it’s quickened beat signaling  _ something  _ to her. Her fingers itch. She examines her pile of daggers, all gleaming metal and sharp edges. No two hilts are the same, some wrapped in worn and faded leather, others efficient and unassuming metal, one elegantly carved silver. No two blades are quite the same either. It would be easier for throwing if they were all the same, if they were all equal in weight with matching balance points, but Sasha has always relished a challenge. Sasha takes another dagger from the pile, gripping and regripping it, twirling it.The dagger in her hand doesn’t soothe the itch the way it usually does. She grits her teeth, cocks her wrist with one smooth and devastatingly quick motion, and throws.

The only sound in the room is Wilde’s quiet breaths besider her and the satisfying thud of the dagger sinking into the wood. She is hyper aware of Wilde’s eyes on her, of the expanse of unmarked skin on his hands, his forearms. A few throws later and the wood isn’t cutting it. Wood doesn’t bleed, doesn’t part the way that flesh and skin do beneath her hand and daggers. She watches Wilde throw another dagger, carefully considering his grip and adjusting it in precisely the way that Sasha has taught him. He lines the shot up and the dagger bites into the wood, once again, very near the center. He sucks in an excited breath and looks over his shoulder with a smile, clearly seeking her approval. 

She gives him a small nod and the faintest quirk of her lips. He throws another dagger, striking the target close to the center again. Sasha’s stomach drops, she adjusts her grip on the blade in her hand, palms itching and she’s moving forward before she can think any better of it. She stalks right up behind Wilde, only giving him the chance to notice her presence when she breathes hot air over his neck. In the next second she wrenches his head back with one hand tangled in his hair and puts a knife to his throat with the other. His eyes go wide, panicked, like a trapped animal, though he makes no move to get away. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this. 

She presses the knife down, not enough to break the skin, not yet, and breathes into his ear, loving the way she can feel his body shuddering where she’s pressed against him. 

_ “Yes.”  _ He breathes, and her stomach lurches and her pulse throbs in her ears. “ _ Please, Sasha.” _

Sasha presses the dagger down, draws it precisely over the pale skin of Wilde’s throat. Her eyes trace the progress, watching as the delicate skin parts beneath the sharp blade of her dagger and blood begins to bead and drip from the wound. Wilde moans and Sasha forces him down to his knees, withdrawing her dagger and scrambling for the fabric of his shirt, eager to get her hands and blade on more of his lovely skin.

His back and chest are expanses of largely unblemished skin. No evidence of her previous work remains and she salivates at the blank canvas before her, remembering what he looks like trembling with his skin split open and bleeding, red tracing the lines of his lean muscles, dripping down and over the slight jut of each one of his ribs. She rolls him onto his back and cuts through the fastenings on his trousers, pulling them roughly over his hips. His enthusiasm is revealed in the way he pants, the way he aids her arching his back and kicking his trousers and pants off. She takes a moment to admire the skin displayed before her and grips her dagger. She holds him firm with a hand wrapped around his throat and carves a neat line across his last four ribs. His gasp is sharp, surprised and she feels his throat working under her palm. She bites her lip as she waits for the blood to well up and spill over. It’s not a deep cut. It doesn’t have to be a deep cut to bleed.

The blood that spills over and between the grooves of his ribs is dark, starkly contrasted to his skin. Her attention is drawn to how naked he is, how vulnerable, laid out beneath her, soft belly exposed, throat twitching under her fingers. It makes her feel  _ powerful _ . 

She draws the knife over his chest, leaving a trail of spreading crimson in her wake as she drags it in a swirling, arcing pattern over his sternum. She feels every little hitch in his breath under the blade, every drawn breath and gasp bouncing to meet the pressure from her hand. She moves down to his stomach, nicking him a few times, just enough to dot it with blooming little drops of dark red. She ignores his straining cock as she spreads his legs, carving thin red lines into his inner thighs. 

The itch crawling and writing under her skin recedes and she sighs contentedly. She relaxes her body, setting the stained and dripping dagger beside her as she swirls her fingers through the blood on his chest, painting little nonsense patterns with it as her other hand seeks out his erection. She dips her fingers in the larger streams of blood on his ribs and chest, drags them across his stomach, mixing it with the little drops scattered all over it. He whines as she tightens her grip around his cock and begins stroking faster, faster until he arches his back with a high strangled sound and spills white over his stomach. 

She smiles, patting his head and swirling her fingers over his stomach to make a pink mess that she brings to her lips and darts her tongue out to taste. He throws his head back and moans, squeezing his eyes shut as if the sight is too much to bear. She grins widely, showing all her teeth and humming as she studies her handiwork. She’ll clean him up in a bit and then take him to Grizzop for healing. But not just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Sasha can have a little bit of blood lust as a treat. I hope you enjoyed! Much love :)


End file.
